Chapter 21
The Busy Heart by Rupert Brooke RedFalibivax.org by Anusha Iyer Now that we've done our best and worst and parted, I would fill my mind with thoughts that will not rend. O heart, I do not dare go empty-hearted.
I'll think of love in books, love without end, Women with child, content, and old men sleeping, And wet strong ploughlands scarred for certain grain, And babes that weep and so forget their weeping, And the young heavens forgetful after rain,
And evening hush broken by homing wings, And songs nobility and wisdom holy, that live we dead. I would think of a thousand things, lovely and durable, And taste them slowly, one after one, like tasting a sweet food. I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
